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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23994718">Make a List</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bibanana/pseuds/Bibanana'>Bibanana</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Doctor John Watson, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Family Feels, Fluff, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mycroft To The Rescue, Pre-Canon, Pre-Johnlock, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Protective Big Brother Mycroft, Protective Mycroft, Suicidal Thoughts, patient sherlock holmes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 21:14:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,616</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23994718</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bibanana/pseuds/Bibanana</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock overdoses and Mycroft just barely gets there in time to save him</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mycroft Holmes &amp; Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes &amp; John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>167</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Make a List</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Warnings for suicidal-ish thoughts and drug use and everything else you find in a Sherlock fic because it's Sherlock Holmes.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mycroft slams the door shut, quickly muttering to his driver, <em> “Don’t wait.” </em></p><p>Sherlock had ditched his mobile long ago, in some dumpster behind a building. Mycroft had had to resort to traffic cameras and the word of members of Sherlock’s Holmesless Network who were high as kites. But finally, after much tedious digging, Mycroft has found him.</p><p>Mycroft races as fast as his legs would carry him, praying not to rip his suit. He turns into a dark alley, panting. His eyes scan over the crowd of hardly living addicts, far too young to be wasting away in this hell. The sharp stench of vomit wafts through the air. Mycroft winces.</p><p>“Myc’?”</p><p>Mycroft whirls around at the muffled sound of his brother’s voice. Sherlock is curled up against a graffitied wall, nearly unrecognizable. He is thinner than Mycroft has ever seen him, his coat falling over him like a blanket, twice his size. His dark curls are greasy and overgrown. His face, which is on the ground, pointed in Mycroft’s direction, is sickly pale, even more so than it’s normally ivory hue. His eyes, normally so full of life, are glazed over and unfocused, struggling to stay open.</p><p>Mycroft kneels down next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Sherlock.” He murmurs urgenty. “Sherlock, look at me.”</p><p>Sherlock makes a strangled noise from his throat but doesn't move. His eyelids flutter, threatening to close.</p><p>“Sherlock. Don’t sleep. What happened? One month, that’s all it took.” Mycroft’s voice breaks a bit and, despite himself, a tear forms in the corner of his eye. He hates seeing his brother like this. He hates that Sherlock was so prone to his own destruction and he hates knowing that it would keep happening again and again. That is, if he even survived his current situation.</p><p>Mycroft pulls his mobile from a pocket inside of his suit and dials 999. He tires to keep his voice steady as he tells the operator what is happening. He keeps one hand on Sherlock, gently shaking him, trying to keep him conscious. “How much did you take?” Mycroft demands, rolling Sherlock onto his side. He wipes a strand of hair off of Sherlock’s sticky forehead and asks again, “How much did you take?” This time his tone is pleading, desperate.</p><p>“‘Dunno.” Sherlock mumbles, starting to drift off.</p><p>“William Sherlock Scott Holmes, you have too much to live for.” Mycroft is surprised at how serious, how sure of himself he sounds. And how much he needs it to be true. Sherlock does not have any friends and probably thinks that Mycroft doesn’t give a damn about him. But, truth be told, Sherlock is Mycroft’s life. His only purpose. If Sherlock were to die, Mycroft isn’t sure what he would do. Sherlock can’t die. “You better stay with me, brother mine.”</p><p>Sherlock groans and a bit of vomit dribbles from his mouth.</p><p>“There you go.” Mycroft praises, a bit of relief washing over him. At least, for now, Sherlock would make an effort to stay alive. “Keep going.”</p><p>Sherlock heaves, retching all over Mycroft’s nicely polished shoes. Mycroft gives a pained smile, taking a red satin handkerchief from his pocket and gently wiping his younger brother’s mouth.</p><p>At long last, sirens come into earshot and paramedics swarm in, lifting Sherlock up onto a stretcher. They clasp a mask over his mouth and load him into the ambulance. Mycroft climbs in right after them. They hook Sherlock up to a pulse monitor and start attempting to inject an IV into his hand. Given how malnourished he is, it becomes a difficult task.</p><p>Mycroft sits in the back of the ambulance and runs his fingers through his hair. He sits in the back of the ambulance and checks his watch. He sits in the back of the ambulance and prays. God is merely a ludicrous fantasy, a fairy tail, that was the only reasonable conclusion, but if there is anything out there, to that he prays. Because Mycroft knows that if Sherlock decides that life is no longer worth his time, no doctor could save him. Sherlock is perfectly capable of pulling through, he is strong enough and has done it before, but if he doesn’t want to, he wouldn’t. What happens now, is for Sherlock alone to decide and <em> dear god above </em>, let him remember that there are people who care.</p><p>It is only when the beeps of Sherlock’s monitor steadied that Mycroft lets himself breathe.</p><p> </p><p>XxX</p><p> </p><p>Sherlock is moving. In a car? No, bigger than a car. How had he gotten there?</p><p>He remembers the syringe. The euphoria overcoming him. He remembers his brain firing away, feeling sharper than ever and he remembers wishing that life could always be like this. He remembers the feeling starting to wear off and <em> no, no, no </em> he started to think rationally again. He remembers injecting more. <em> More. </em> Anything to chase off the reality of life. Suddenly he was on the ground.</p><p>Sherlock remembers a voice. Mycroft’s voice.</p><p>He remembers trying to speak, trying to tell Mycroft to <em> piss off, what are you doing here, you git, I don’t even have my phone, you better leave, I’m perfectly fine, I don’t need you, you’re a rubbish big brother for tracking me, it’s an invasion of privacy. </em></p><p>But his voice wouldn’t work and his brain was scrambled and burning and nothing made sense anymore.</p><p>He remembers the fear.</p><p>He had taken too much and now he would die. Sherlock doesn’t want to die. Does he?</p><p>Anderson and Donovan want him dead. If he were dead, he wouldn’t be in the way of Donvan’s promotion and leave fingerprints all over Anderson’s crime scene. And Lestrade would not be in danger of being fired.</p><p>Things aren’t looking too great for Sherlock. The darkness is pulling him under and he can’t breathe and he could try to fight it but he’s so, <em> so </em> tired. What’s the point of fighting if you have nothing to fight for?</p><p>But then Sherlock feels fingers combing through his hair and murmurs just barely reaching his ears. <em> “Don’t die, Sherlock. There are so many things you haven’t seen yet. You are merely a child, not even out of your twenties. Once you wake up, we’ll go to France and I’ll buy you chips. The best chips I’ve ever had were in France. You simply </em> cannot <em> die without tasting them.” </em> Mycroft continues talking, naming all of the experiences Sherlock has yet to have.</p><p>That’s when Sherlock decides to keep going. Because he was wrong to think that he has nothing to fight for. He has Mycroft and maybe, just <em> maybe </em> he’ll have someone else too. Maybe if he just opened himself up.</p><p>The darkness has his head under, but Sherlock starts to fight. His fingers graze the surface and his head breaks through and he gulps fresh air with a newfound energy. A reason to <em> live </em>.</p><p> </p><p>XxX</p><p> </p><p>The light is blinding and for a moment, Sherlock wants to close his eyes again. He wants to, but he doesn’t because waiting for him at the surface is Mycroft, his eyes wide, his cheeks stained with tears, and his mouth sporting the largest smile Sherlock has ever seen on anyone, least of all Mycroft “The Iceman” “Caring is Not an Advantage” Holmes. When Sherlock sees that grin, he knows that it is all worth it.</p><p>“Never do that again, Sherlock.” Mycroft’s voice is hoarse. “Never <em> ever </em> do that to me again.”</p><p>The tubes that had been shoved down Sherlock’s throat prevent him from responding but he gives a weak nod, being rudely reminded how tired he was.</p><p>“They wanted to know how much you had taken but you couldn’t remember.”</p><p>Sherlock’s stomach curdles in guilt.</p><p>“Next time, make a list. Promise me, as you take it, write it all down. Make a list.”</p><p>Sherlock nods again. <em> There won’t be a next time. </em></p><p>A blond doctor enters the room, carrying a clipboard. He doesn’t look any older than Sherlock himself. “Mr. Holmes. You gave us quite a scare. You’re brother here was convinced you’d make it, but we weren’t so sure.” The doctor laughs awkwardly. “I mean, we all had total faith in you, but you really had made a mess of yourself. Um, sorry. I’m just an intern here. A proper doctor will be in here any moment, I just have to, y’know, check your vitals and whatnot.” The doctor fumbles with a machine over Sherlock’s head.</p><p>Mycroft sighs. “You’re Dr. Watson, I should assume?” He sounds annoyed but Sherlock finds his clumsiness rather endearing.</p><p>“That’s me.” The doctor removes the tubes from Sherlock’s mouth. “There ya go. You can speak now.”</p><p>Sherlock clears his throat and turns to face Dr. Watson. “Thank you.” It comes out a bit raspy.</p><p>“You are most welcome.” He hesitates. “Oh, and, not Dr. Watson, actually. I’m not really a doctor just yet, you see.”</p><p>Mycroft raises both eyebrows. “What do you propose we call you, then?”</p><p>Not-Doctor-Watson considered this. “How ‘bout we go with John.”</p><p>“Thank you for your assistance, <em> John </em>.” Sherlock says.</p><p>“Not a problem at all, Mr. Holmes.” John says opening the door. “Very nice to meet you.”</p><p>Sherlock gives a half smile. “How about we go with Sherlock.”</p><p>“Well then.” John starts to leave. “Nice to meet you, Sherlock.”</p><p>“Likewise.” Sherlock is grinning even after John exits the room, proud to have spoken to someone without offending them in some way.</p><p>Mycroft doesn’t miss it. “Got yourself a crush, have you?”</p><p> </p><p>XxX</p><p> </p><p>Day turns to night and Sherlock falls asleep thinking about John, with his blond hair and cheeky smile. Maybe, someday, they could be something.</p><p>The doctor and the addict.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hope you liked it! Feedback always welcome! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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